


And Thou Shalt Be One Of My String

by simonetta



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Robin Hood, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:16:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonetta/pseuds/simonetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy Blake was a poor villager who was desperate to keep his sister and his people safe and well fed during hard times. Lady Clarke of Griffinshire was a fallen women exiled to to the County of Weatherton in a last ditch effort to find a suitable husband. Somehow, the two collided and fought their way out of misfortune, together. </p>
<p>or, the Robin Hood AU nobody asked for</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Francis James Child's 'Ballad of of Robin Hood and Maid Marian'

Night fell over the small Arkadian village of Polaris as Bellamy picked his way through the underbrush at the edge of the forest, careful to not let the rabbits swung over his shoulder hit the ground. It was late enough that any of Cage’s knights would be back in town and the villagers tended not to rat him out, not when they always got a share of his hunting spoils, so he didn’t have to worry too much as he crossed the open fields on the outskirts of Polaris. The settlement was small, comprising of twenty-five little thatch houses that looked more like huts, each housing one family and, during bad weather, livestock as well. The County of Weatherton was easily the poorest in the kingdom, made poorer by the heavy expenses of the King’s efforts to capture the City of Light in the distant east, and Polaris was certainly the poorest village in the county. Poor as it may be, it was all Bellamy had ever known. Life didn’t offer many opportunities to the bastard son of nobody knows who and the village seamstress, so he had never left Polaris aside from the occasional trip to a neighboring village or the annual fair in town. He knew he was dirt poor, and sure it bothered him to know others lived lavish lives, but there wasn’t much the bastard son of a seamstress could do to advance his station. 

A few familiar faces smiled at Bellamy, eyeing his rabbits, as he weaved his way through the homes towards the one he shared with his sister on the far edge of town. 

“Good hunting today, Bellamy?” 

He smiled at Johanna Jordan, a kind old woman doing her best to raise her late daughter’s large brood of children. “Not too bad, Johanna. I’ll skin these and bring some meat back to you. Have you had word from Jasper?” 

“Oh no, he is far too busy in town. We are all so proud of him,” the old woman added with a smile. Her eldest grandson, Jasper, had been given a job serving in Weatherton Castle. The entire village had seen him off when he left a few weeks earlier. In a tight knit, rural community like Polaris, a job in a castle, even if it was just as a simple servant, was a big deal. 

Bellamy nodded and moved on. He could see Octavia’s faint outline in the dark, giving water to their goats in front of their home. The young woman’s face lit up in the dying light when she spotted his approach. 

“Bell!” At fifteen she looked every bit like their late mother and sometimes it left Bellamy a little breathless. Octavia, who was only five when Aurora Blake had died of a fever, had no idea how much she had taken after her mother. But Bellamy, ten years her senior, was often struck by the likeness. Eagerly, Octavia pulled the rabbits from his shoulder. “More rabbits?” Disappointment was etched in her tone. 

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to take too many deer, O. It’s risky enough just taking rabbits. If a member of the Guard was to catch me killing a deer in the Earl’s forest-”

“I know, I know,” she said, cutting him off. “Believe me, Bell. I worry about it all day when you go out hunting.” 

With a fond smile, Bellamy followed his sister into their home. A fire was roaring in the hearth, adding warmth to the cool, summer night. They didn’t have much. Two piles of hay covered with pelts and fur as beds, some shelves with a couple of Aurora’s old books, some herbs, and trinkets from town, a chest of clothes, Bellamy’s arrows, and a table covered with fabric. Picking up a simple dress from the table, Bellamy turned to his sister. “You got more work today, I see.” After their mother passed, Bellamy had acted as the village’s tailor though he never enjoyed it much. Octavia was far more talented than he and when she was old enough she took over much of the tailor work while he preformed odd jobs for their neighbors to give them extra income. 

Octavia nodded. “Gina is going to marry a boy from Mechville next month. Her parents worked it out today, so they brought in some of her old things to be remade into a wedding dress.”

He could feel his sister watching him carefully. Much of the village had assumed Gina and Bellamy would wed, after all they had known each other their whole lives and it was easier to marry someone in your own village than seek a spouse elsewhere. Bellamy hadn’t made any indication of interest in marriage, however, and Gina’s family had clearly moved on. 

“You have something more to say, O?”

“No,” she replied, her voice a little clipped. 

He rolled his eyes and poured himself some of the stew that was bubbling above the hearth. It was the last of their venison and Bellamy planned to savor the taste. He wouldn’t risk killing another deer for a few weeks at least. “Good. After this I’m going to skin the rabbits and bring some meat to the Jordans and the Godwins.” 

Octavia nodded. “I’ll help. You should take some to the Martins too, to congratulate them on Gina’s betrothal.” 

“Okay,” Bellamy grumbled as he sat at the table and watched his little sister work by the firelight. It was quiet and peaceful and it was times like this that Bellamy didn’t mind how poor they were. As long as he had Octavia, it didn’t really matter that much. 

The next day Bellamy set out into the woods again. He usually put a couple days between his hunting trips, but the rabbits from last night had quickly disappeared into neighboring houses that had hungry children. Bellamy could handle a little hunger, but he couldn’t handle watching the village kids go without food. When the sun rose on a beautiful, clear day, Octavia told him she didn’t need help with her sewing and nobody asked him for help on their farms or with construction so Bellamy decided he might as well go back into the woods. 

With his bow and quiver slung over his back, Bellamy picked his way through the lush forest, careful to not step on fallen twigs and branches. He always felt more at peace in the woods, with the leaves making sunlight dance across the forest floor and birds chirping high above in the canopy. It was like an entirely new world where all he had to focus on was the hunt, not how to take care of his sister or all the others in the village that had come to depend on him more and more as times got harder. Over the years he had gotten quite good with a bow. It started when the village carpenter, David Miller, made him one when he and David’s son, Nathan, were boys. They had practiced all the time as kids, shooting hastily made straw targets and playing at soldiers. Then Bellamy’s mother died and Nathan’s father lost a hand to a misplaced axe and life got in the way of their archery. Neither of them had a future as soldiers, so it became a hobby that got in the way of real work. When the war to recapture the City of Light began and money was even shorter, Bellamy took up archery again out of necessity. The village needed meat and even though hunting in the Earl’s forest was strictly forbidden for peasants, his people needed to eat. Now his bow felt more like an extension of his arm than anything else. He was good and he knew it, most of Polaris knew it too and had become dependent on the extra food he brought in, forming a silent understanding between each other that nobody would inform the Knights of the Guard who patrolled through the village each day. 

As the midday sun climbed high into the sky, Bellamy sat by a stream and ate an apple he had brought with him. Looking out to the east, he imagined what it was like where King Thelonious and Prince Wells were fighting for the holy city. It seemed like such a waste to Bellamy. The City of Light was too far for anyone other than a noble to make pilgrimage to. People were starving here in Arkadia, the King’s people. Surely that should concern a king more than some distant city that had little impact on Arkadia itself. He remembered when the King’s messengers had passed through Polaris, speaking of the glory that could be found fighting for the City of Light. Even he had been swept up in the idea of a glorious crusade, but Octavia was only thirteen and he had no money to buy armor or supplies. Now it just seemed like a waste. A waste of money and of men. 

He tossed the core of his apple in the stream and watched it float away before getting up and dusting himself off. It was already past noon and he needed to find a fox or at least some more rabbits. He couldn’t go home empty handed, not with so many mouths to feed. 

Night had fallen heavily over the forest and Polaris when Bellamy finally returned with a couple quails and another rabbit. He wasn’t in a great mood, frustrated with the lack of game in the woods and angry with himself for cutting his hand pretty bad on an arrowhead. Nathan Miller caught him off guard on the outskirts of the village. 

“Blake!” 

“Shit,” Bellamy murmured. “Where the hell did you come from?” 

Nathan just frowned. “Look, man, we tried to stop them but they threatened to take more people if we resisted. We really did all we could but there was just nothing-”

“What are you talking about, Miller?” Dread was settling deep in Bellamy’s gut. Something was terribly wrong if the usually mute Miller was rambling. 

“Its Octavia. She mouthed off when a tax collector came through and he decided to make an example out of her.” 

His heart started pounding. “What? What do you mean he made an example out of her?” Bellamy was nearly shouting now, pushing past Nathan to get into the village and back to his and Octavia’s house. 

Nathan followed close behind. “They took her into town with them. We don’t know what he is going to do but he just said he had enough and that he wanted to make it clear what happens when commoners don’t listen to authority.” 

The home was empty, cold. No fire burned in the hearth and there was no sign of his baby sister. “Was it Shumway?” Belllamy growled. 

“No, somebody new. He didn’t give us his name, just said that Cage had given him the position.” 

“Yeah, well fuck Cage and fuck this asshole. When did they leave?”

“Just before nightfall. I tried to stop her, Bellamy. She was just so pissed. He was pushing Johanna around and-” 

Bellamy stalked out of the house. “I’m borrowing your dad’s horse.” 

Miller just nodded and followed him, helping to untie the horse from a post outside the carpenter’s house. “Do you want me to come to? I’m sure Hope would let me use her mare.” 

“No, you stay here. There are some birds and a rabbit in my house, just pass the meat out to people before it goes bad.” 

Miller nodded, his face drawn in worry. Polaris was really more of one large, extended family than anything. It was small enough that each family acknowledged the others as their own by choice if not by blood. It was Bellamy’s sister in trouble, but it worried Miller almost as much. 

The ride into Weatherton Town felt like it took days rather than a little over and hour. By the time Bellamy finally crossed the gate into town, Miller’s horse was exhausted and torchlight illuminated the buildings around him. Weatherton wasn’t terribly large but it was the largest city Bellamy had ever been to and seemed even more looming and great in the darkness. It was too late to do anything about Octavia, Bellamy knew that, and even though it killed him he went to call on a friend for the night rather than going directly to the castle. He would go at first light to find Octavia. Until then he would just have to worry. 

If Echo was at all surprised to see him on her doorstep this late a night, her face didn’t show it. They had shared something a few years back when he was coming to town regularly for a few weeks during harvest as a favor to Johanna and had seen each other occasionally since, but it was hardly serious. Just a nice fuck and an interesting conversation. She was a skilled apothecary with no interest in marriage and Bellamy didn’t plan on settling down anytime soon so it worked well. 

“Are you here for trade?” Echo asked quietly as Bellamy pulled off his cloak and his bow and quiver, he had forgotten to leave them at home in the rush to find Octavia. 

“No, O was taken by a tax collector. I’m going to argue her case in the morning.” 

Echo drew her brow together in concern. “Why was she taken?” 

“She doesn’t know when to keep her damn mouth shut.” 

He sighed with frustration and dropped down onto a bench in Echo’s shop, running a hand over his face is if it could wash away his worried frown. Echo came to sit beside him, rubbing his back soothingly. It was more affection than he was use to from her. Usually they were quick and rough and avoided any signs of fondness. “I’m sorry, Bellamy. Truly.”

Bellamy nodded heavily. Echo gave him some bread and cheese and a little ale before going to bed in her living quarters above the shop. He stayed up watching the fire dance across the walls of her apothecary, the various herbs and roots casting strange, distorted shadows. For ten years now he had been responsible for Octavia, though even before that his mother had depended on his help. Octavia was another bastard. Conceived in town like him during the annual fair. It was Bellamy who had named her, who had helped his mother through labor, who had taken care of her while his mother worked during the day. “Your sister, your responsibility,” Aurora use to say. 

He huffed in frustration and worry. 

Tomorrow he would get Octavia back. He had to. She was his baby sister and she needed him. 

 

***

 

Lady Clarke of Griffinshire reread her latest letter from Prince Wells for the fourth time, as if the repetition would somehow reveal details she had missed before. It had been two long years since she last saw her childhood friend. Two years of bloody battle for him and emotional exhaustion for her. The Duke of Griffinshire, her father, had died in the first month of the expedition to the City of Light. Ever since, she treated every letter from Wells like a precious treasure, well aware it could be his last. She was startled from her reading when a soft knock rang through her chambers, followed by the entrance of her mother and, to Clarke’s chagrin, Queen Diana. Stumbling to her feet, Clarke curtsied gracefully to the older women. 

“Your Majesty, what an surprising honor. Mother,” Clarke nodded in hello. Everyone in the room knew it was no surprise the queen was there, given the recent events at court.

“Please, Lady Clarke, have a seat,” Diana said in a sickly sweet voice that dripped with insincerity. “What are you reading?” She and Clarke’s mother sat on the chairs across from Clarke’s desk. 

“A letter from the Prince, your grace.” 

“Oh, is it new? I haven’t had correspondence from my husband or my step-son in weeks.” 

“No, it is from last month, I just found myself thinking of the prince today and read it to be reminded of his company.” 

Abby, the Duchess of Griffinshire, smiled tightly. It had once been her greatest desire for Clarke to wed the crown prince of Arkadia, something that had been a very real possibility up until a few months ago. Now, however, that dream seemed as impossible as her father coming back from the dead. 

“Clarke, my dear,” Abby began, her voice gentle with warning. “Queen Diana has been gracious enough to speak with me out of concern for your,” she paused, searching for the right word. “Your troubles. We have come to agree on a course of action we think best given the situation.” 

Clarke swallowed and locked her jaw in frustration. “Mother, those rumors are false. I did not lose my virtue to him.” 

Before Abby could respond, Diana placed a hand on the Duchess’s shoulder and turned to Clarke. “Dear girl, please believe that we know that. I am sure that a lady as accomplished as yourself would not betray her virtue in such a way.” Anger boiled in Clarke’s gut at the condescension in the queen’s tone. Of course Diana believed the rumors; she helped spread them. “But the simple truth is that all of court is abuzz and what has been said cannot be taken back. Therefore, your mother and I agree it would be best for you to take some time away from court. Refresh yourself in the countryside and let these rumors die down.” 

Abby nodded to show her agreement. “Clarke, her majesty is right. Whether or not the stories are true, it will only be worse if you stay here. A break from the capital would do you wonders.” 

“It wouldn’t be a break though, would it?” 

“Clarke,” Abby warned, her tone noticeably less affectionate. 

“No, mother. A lady is not accused of losing her virtue to a marquis who is already betrothed to a favorite at court as well as taking a visiting princess into her bed as a lover and welcomed back to court in open arms after a summer in the country.” Both of the women’s faces drew together in repulsion at Clarke’s directness, but Clarke couldn’t seem to find the patience for formalities. She’d been accused of inappropriate relations with two scandalous people and there wasn’t really anything that could be done to save her reputation at this point. “So what is the true intention of my leaving? If I am not to return, where are you sending me? I doubt it will be back to Griffinshire, as I am now the shame of the family. A convent, perhaps?”

The queen recovered from Clarke’s honesty first. “No, my dear. A convent would never take you.” The insult was delivered in the same false sweetness as before and Clarke clenched her skirts to keep from lashing out at Diana. 

“You are to go to my cousin’s seat. County Weatherton, in the north. You will become his ward and, God willing, his daughter in law. I hope that by sending you there, his son will take a liking to you and offer marriage,” Abby told Clarke, her tone neutral and diplomatic. 

“What makes you think he will take a whore like me?” 

Abby glared while Diana almost seemed to be trying to hold back a smile. 

“My cousin, Dante, and his son, Cage, are members of the nobility, but hope to see their station rise. This could be facilitated by closer ties to the title of Griffinshire, which you will inherit upon my death. Despite the rumors, you are very beautiful, young, and accomplished. From a strategic standpoint it makes sense,” her mother answered, eyes still hard with disappointment. 

“You should be grateful, Lady Clarke,” the queen added. “I have written to the Earl of Weatherton myself asking him to take you in as his ward. Surely that will only increase your marriageability.”

Clarke stared at the queen, trying to read her better. Diana and Clarke had never gotten on particularly well. After her marriage to King Thelonious, Diana had always been somewhat dismissive of Wells, the king’s son with his first wife, who had died in childbirth, and the heir to the Kingdom of Arkadia. As Wells’ best friend, this had never sat well with Clarke. The relationship between them had only deteriorated when Wells and Thelonious left for the City of Light, leaving Diana in charge of the realm. Under her rule, taxes had been raised exorbitantly, local concerns were ignored, and Diana began to lead an even more outrageously extravagant life using the money collected to fill her personal coffers rather than to send aid to their army in the east. Everyone at court, eager to remain in her favor and reap the benefits, had refused to challenge Diana’s practices. Everyone that is, except Clarke, who had been an outspoken opponent of the queen as soon as her corruption became apparent. Unfortunately for Clarke, Diana was the aunt of Finn, the Marquis of Collinsdale, who confided in her after Clarke broke off their affair upon discovering his standing betrothal to another woman. Somehow word of the affair, which had truly never gone past stolen kisses, spread around the capital and was warped into a torrid tale of sex and deceit with poor, innocent Finn as the victim of terrible temptress. As if that weren’t damaging enough, a servant informed Diana of the Polisian princess, Lexa, coming and leaving Clarke’s chambers at all hours of the night during her visit the winter before. More rumors of Clarke’s sexual indiscretions circulated, though this time they were rooted in truth. As a result, in less than a month Clarke had gone from the darling, prospective future queen of Arkadia to a shunned, scandalous temptress and she had no doubt in her mind who was behind the rumor mill. The culprit was sitting right in front of Clarke; finally about to be rid of her largest political rival, and telling her that she should be grateful. 

“When do I leave?” Clarke asked, turning to her mother and refusing to thank the queen for her efforts. 

“Tomorrow. The journey is a little over a week.”

Clarke nodded and stood, folding Wells’ letter and sliding it into a drawer. “I should pack, then,” she said dismissively. 

“Of course,” Diana replied, crossing the space between them to rest a hand on Clarke’s shoulder. “I do wish you the best, my dear. Its so unfortunate how easily a misplaced rumor can ruin a woman of such promise.” 

Clarke didn’t reply, instead she looked to her mother. “Will I see you before I leave?” 

“Yes, I will see you off in the morning.” 

Diana moved towards the door, nodded as both members of the Griffinshire family curtsied, and left. Abby turned to follow but Clarke stopped her with an outstretched hand. 

“Mother, you must know she is behind all of this. She started all these rumors so that she could be rid of me. You are giving her exactly what she wants by sending me away.”

Sighing, Abby took Clarke’s hands in her own. “That doesn’t change the fact that this is the best course of action for you, Clarke. Cage Wallace is your only hope for a suitable marriage now.” 

Clarke ripped her hands away from her mother. “You believe the rumors, don’t you?” she asked, anger seeping into her words. 

“I don’t know what to believe, Clarke. All I know is that this is the only way I can still retain some honor for our family.” 

“Oh yes, the family,” Clarke scoffed, turning away. 

“Clarke,” Abby’s voice seemed pained and it almost made Clarke regret her anger. Almost. “I just want what is best for us. You can’t stay here. We both know that.” 

Clarke nodded, refusing to turn and let her mother see the silent tears falling from her eyes. It wasn’t until she heard the door to her chambers close that Clarke let herself collapse onto her bed and just cry. She was only twenty and she had no prospects beyond a county seat in the north. Once, she had been poised to create real change, to actually make a difference to her kingdom. Wells listened and valued her advice. Even if she never married him as her mother wished, she still could have had a say in the governance of Arkadia. But now she was reduced to even less power than before and little hope for redemption. Before long, Clarke pulled herself together. She refused to simply give in and accept the lot she had been given. Wiping her eyes, Clarke moved towards her sizable wall of books, finding the large volumes detailing various regions in Arkadia, and began to study the history and demography of Weatherton County. If she was to be exiled to the country, she would do so with all the grace and dignity her station and upbringing required.


	2. Chapter Two

The next morning Clarke was stony faced as she got into her carriage. Her mother had waited for her in the palace courtyard with Clarke’s new stepfather, Sir Marcus Kane. Overly formal, Clarke simply curtsied to her mother and Sir Marcus before getting into the coach. 

“Clarke,” Abby began as Clarke’s trunks were loaded onto the back of the carriage and her two attendants entered the coach. The Duchess of Griffinshire looked pleadingly at her daughter, searching for the right words. “I just… I love you. Be safe. Please write to me; let me know how you are.” 

Clarke nodded and looked out the opposite window. 

The ride was long and tiring. County Weatherton was on the other side of Arkadia, far to the north. By the fourth day of travel the excitement of seeing new towns and countryside had worn off and Clarke and her attendants, two young women from the capital named Charlotte and Roma, grew weary. 

“I never realized how large the kingdom was,” Charlotte said quietly, gazing out the window at a small village they were passing through. 

Clarke felt guilty that the two girls were forced into exile along with her. They both had families back in Jaha, the capital city. Their job serving the future Duchess of Griffinshire had once been an honor, especially for two daughters of middle class merchants. However, their social status had suffered along with hers in recent weeks. They were blamed for allowing Clarke’s indiscretions to pass, something Clarke felt terrible about. 

“I was talking to the coachman, Bryan, and he told me about an outlaw that is suppose to be causing all sorts of trouble in Weatherton,” Roma whispered, like it was a dirty secret. 

Charlotte turned to her with wide eyes. “I think I heard something about that a couple weeks back, the news was overshadowed by… well…” She looked over at Clarke apologetically, clearly afraid to talk about Clarke’s scandals. Clarke just shook her head with a smile. “His name is Bellamy Blake, but everyone just calls him The Hood because he always wears a cloak over his face.” 

“Why?” Clarke asked, her brow drawn incredulously. “It seems a tad theatric to cover one’s face if everyone knows who you are.” 

Roma shrugged. “I think its quite romantic. Like something right out of a ballad.” 

Clarke smiled and rolled her eyes. “Yes, Roma, because what we need is more scandal.” Charlotte and Roma giggled and Clarke was pleased that their mutual fall from grace was slowly becoming something they could all discuss casually. “Besides,” she continued, “I doubt this outlaw is all Bryan makes him out to be. Stories like this always come out of the country from time to time; small folk heroes that do one thing and get turned into legends.” 

“I’ve heard that Weatherton is the poorest county in the kingdom,” Charlotte said, a little glumly. 

“It is.” Clarke reached out to grasp the younger woman’s hand. “But we’ll be fine. It will certainly be different from our lives in the royal palace, but we will find our place in no time.” 

They arrived in Weatherton late in the afternoon on a Friday. Clarke was pleasantly surprised to see a bustling market as they passed under the town’s gates. Fountains bubbled in plazas on the sides of the main road stretching up to the castle and multistoried buildings cast shade over the coach as it passed. It was certainly smaller than she was use to, but not nearly as pastoral and poor as she had imagined. 

“Its quite nice,” Charlotte murmured, sounding a bit surprised. “Not at all how I thought it would be.” 

“It doesn’t look terribly poor,” Roma added in agreement. She turned her head from the window to look over at Clarke. “Are you sure this is the poorest region? We certainly passed through poorer towns on the way here.” 

Clarke looked out the window at some children laughing outside a bakery. “I swear I remember reading that they have been the hardest hit by the Queen’s Tax but it looks like they’ve recovered.” 

“Maybe its due to our swoon-worthy outlaw,” Roma said wistfully. 

Clarke huffed indignantly. 

Before long they arrived at the castle. It was a simple design; large and looming and made of a dark grey stone. It looked distinctly northern and nothing like the cream colored marble palace back in Jaha. The Earl of Weatherton was waiting just outside the grand doors to the castle. He was older than Clarke had imagined. Old enough to be her mother’s father rather than her cousin. 

“Is that the one you are meant to marry?” Roma asked. 

“No, his son.” As if on cue, Cage Wallace came to stand beside his father from somewhere in the stables. The younger man whispered something in his father’s ear causing the earl to frown. 

“He’s handsome.” Charlotte’s tone was light and Clarke forced a smile. Charlotte wasn’t wrong. Cage was fairly handsome and dressed in an expensive looking tunic lined with dark fur. But when he smiled as Clarke stepped out of the coach, something about the way it distorted his face made Clarke want to squirm. 

“My dear, dear girl.” the Earl of Weatherton strode forward and clasped Clarke’s hand. His smile was genuine and he seemed kind enough to Clarke. “I am so pleased to welcome you to our home. This is my son, Cage.” 

Cage nodded in greeting and the way his eyes traveled her body was not lost on Clarke. She did her best to not let her discomfort show. “I hope your journey was well,” he finally said. 

“Yes, my lord, most pleasant. Though my companions and I are quite tired.”

“Of course, of course!” Dante said, linking his arm in hers. “Please, come in. We will have you shown to your chambers and once you are ready I would be honored to give you a tour of your new home.” 

“Thank you,” Clarke smiled. She liked Dante, something about his son, however, made her feel on edge. 

 

***

 

“So is everyone clear on where they are suppose to be and when? We only have one shot at this while everyone is distracted by the feast. According to Jasper they are making this as extravagant as possible, we won’t see the same opportunity again.” Bellamy was huddled over a small fire, rough blueprints to Castle Weatherton in his hand courtesy of Jasper Jordan, their inside man. His gaze flitted around to each face watching him. The all nodded in understanding. “Right, let’s head out then.” 

The group grabbed cloaks and weapons, pairing off into their designated teams before disappearing into the dark trees leaving only Bellamy, Murphy, and Miller behind. As Bellamy double-checked the knives in his boots and swung his bow onto his back, Murphy eyed him. “You sure this is going to work, Blake?” 

“When have my plans ever not worked?”

Miller snorted and Bellamy shot him a look. 

“Everyone is distracted by the princess; all attention will be on the dinner and not on the treasury,” Bellamy continued. 

“She’s a lady, technically. Future duchess I think.” 

“For fuck’s sake, Miller, do you really think I care?” 

Miller shrugged. 

“All I’m saying, is how do we know they aren’t expecting this?” Murphy cut in. Bellamy sighed, Murphy had been one of the first to join his cause but lately had been giving him nothing but shit, bristling against the fame Bellamy had gained in recent months. 

“We don’t, okay? But it’s as good a shot as any. Look, I’m not saying there won’t be any guards. But with the others creating diversions throughout town and everyone focused on impressing the whatever the hell she is,” he threw a look at Miller who was smirking, “we have a good chance of succeeding.” 

Murphy looked like he had more to say but held his tongue. “Fine. Let’s just go.” 

 

*** 

 

After allowing Clarke and her attendants a couple hours to settle in and rest, Dante led her on a grand tour of the castle. Clarke was a bit surprised at the generous wealth of the place. Huge, gilded tapestries hung on the walls, expensive furniture filled the rooms and there was no shortage of servants. Later in the night, Dante and Cage hosted a dinner in her honor, inviting local lords and dignitaries from around the county to dine in the grandly illuminated great hall. They clearly spared no expense on food and decorations; beautiful flowers and tree boughs decorated the hall and hundred of candles made the room gleam with light. A surprisingly skilled group of minstrels played the most popular songs from the capital and Clarke was a little overwhelmed with the extravagance of it all. If news of her reputation had spread this far north, none of the local nobles she met indicated it. They demonstrated nothing but the upmost respect for her, clearly a little awed to be meeting someone so closely connected with the royal family. Clarke especially enjoyed the company of Maya, the daughter of a local lord, who asks her all about her life in Jaha and about court. 

A couple of times through the night a guard came in and whispered something in Cage’s ear. Clarke noted it each time, curious as to what was being discussed. The third time it happened Cage rose with a start and gave his father a knowing look. 

“Lord Cage? You are leaving already?” Clarke asked. She was intrigued by what could be happening. 

“Yes, my lady, I’m afraid I must attend to some matters. Please, enjoy the rest of the evening.” His smile was a little slimy and Clarke let the matter drop, suddenly wary to give any indication of interest in his affairs. She knew what her mother wanted, but if the evening had confirmed anything for Clarke it was that she felt no attraction to her prospective husband. 

“Don’t worry my dear,” Dante said, leaning towards her. “There is just a little dispute in town that my son is going to take care of. He is well respected by our people, they listen to him.” 

Clarke smiled sweetly and nodded. Cage didn’t return and soon the candles were burning low in their holders but the guests showed no sign of leaving. Still tired from traveling and a little overwhelmed by the whole feast, Clarke excused herself and bid Dante goodnight. He nodded, understanding, and kissed her hand in parting. It was a little strange to Clarke to be treated the way she was before her scandals. It was as if Weatherton had wiped her slate clean. Nobody here avoided her gaze or stopped talking when she came near. They treated her with the respect and admiration she had become accustomed to in court. 

Still unfamiliar with the castle, Clarke got a little lost trying to find her chambers. She had declined Dante’s offer to send a guard with her, adamant she knew where to go, but in the darkened hallways everything seemed to look the same. Slumping against a cold, stone wall, Clarke let herself just pause for a moment. It still felt a little unreal to be in Weatherton; like a dream she was bound to wake up from. In some ways it was eerily similar to her life back in the capital, but at the same time it felt like an entirely different world. Gazing out the window opposite her, she sighed and let her eyes wander across the castle courtyard. A dark figure was sprinting towards the gates carrying something heavy on their back. Clarke pushed off the wall to get a closer look but before she could, the sound of heavy footfalls came pounding down the hall. 

“Lady Clarke!” 

Startled, Clarke turned towards the shout, her eyes wide. A member of the castle guard was hurrying towards her. “My lady, what are you doing alone at this hour?” His voice sounded desperate. She stuttered over her words, still a little shocked by his dramatic entrance. A trio of guards came racing down the opposite side of the hallway calling out as they passed for Sterling, whom Clarke assumed was the guard speaking to her, to follow. “We checked down there, the bastard must have gone this way, come on, before he gets out!” 

“One moment captain, let me take the lady back to her chambers!” 

His captain nodded before disappearing down another corridor. Sterling grabbed Clarke by the arm and began leading her away. “What is going on?” Clarke asked, her heart pounding as Sterling turned a corner and she suddenly recognized the hallway. 

“The Hood, my Lady. He’s somewhere in the castle, but don’t worry. We’ll protect you.” Sterling opened the door to Clarke’s chambers, guiding her inside. 

“The Hood,” Clarke murmured, remembering the figure running across the courtyard. “I saw him, I think. I saw a figure, down in the courtyard! They had something with them!” 

“The courtyard?” 

“Yes! Moving towards the gate.” Sterling looked torn; his glance flickered between her and the door. “Go tell your captain,” Clarke told him, her voice strong with confidence. “I’ll be safe, you just tell your captain where he is.” 

“Are you sure, my lady? I can guard your door if you would like.” 

“I’m sure I will be fine, thank you.” 

Sterling nodded, his face still a little unsure, but after a moment he hurried out the door and back down the way they came. Clarke locked the door behind him. Her room was dim, lit only by the fireplace. She moved towards her bed where a nightgown had been laid out by either Roma or Charlotte and was just about to begin to undress when a deep, disembodied voice nearly caused her to yelp in surprise. 

“Thank you.” 

Clarke whipped around, her eyes searching the shadowy room for the intruder. She backed up until the back of her knees hit her bed. “Where are you?” Her voice shook a little despite her efforts to appear strong. A dark form materialized out of the shadow by her armoire. He was tall; broad shouldered, and wore all black including a long, hooded cloak that hid his features. The hood reminded her of Charlotte’s words days earlier. “Bellamy Blake?” 

The figure seemed to start in surprise before chuckling softly. “I must really be famous if you already know about me.” He lifted the hood off his head and ruffled the dark curls that were revealed in its wake. “Murphy is going to be pissed.” 

Clarke’s eyes scanned his face, taking in the tanned skin dotted with countless dark freckles, his shadowy eyes, and the small smirk that danced across his lips. There was a scar above his upper lip and she found herself absentmindedly wondering how he got it. “You’re the one they are looking for; The Hood.” 

“Hence, the thank you,” he replied, his gravely voice making Clarke shiver involuntarily. “I thought I was done for when I heard the door open.” 

“I didn’t… I thought…” Clarke stammered over her words, still a little shocked by what was happening. “I didn’t lie to help you. I had no idea you were here, I did see someone in the courtyard.” 

Bellamy nodded and moved towards the fire, holding out his hands to the warmth. “Probably one of my men getting away with the loot.” He turned back to her, a glint in his dark eyes, “So you are the princess everyone’s talking about then?” 

Clarke felt her face redden, though she was sure he wasn’t referencing her scandals, his phrasing carried the implication. “I’m not a princess,” she replied and clenched her jaw, a little frustrated with the simplicity of her response. The outlaw didn’t answer; instead he just studied her for a minute. Clarke held his gaze, determined not to look weak or frightened.The moment broke when the sound of boots pounding against stone echoed down the hallway. Bellamy’s head whipped towards the door, his hand going to where a dagger lay on his belt. Clarke knew this was her chance, all she had to do was cry out and guards would come in and arrest Bellamy but for some reason she stayed silent as the noise passed. She was a little surprised by her reticence but Bellamy looked downright astonished when his gaze fell back on her. 

“Now you can thank me,” she said quietly, eyeing the weapon on his waist. 

“Thank you.” His voice was deep and sincere. When Clarke looked up his eyes were earnest as well. She watched as he moved towards the door, laying an ear against it to listen for any remaining guards. Bellamy threw one more indecipherable look her way before slipping out of the door and into the night. 

As soon as he was gone Clarke collapsed onto her bed, immediately kicking herself for being so stupid. She had just let the most infamous outlaw in the region get away. Guilt gnawed at her as she tried to figure out what on earth had possessed her to stay quiet when the guards passed. This man was most likely a murderer, certainly a thief, and she had given him a free pass to continue his reign of terror. Despite her frustration with her own choices, Clarke couldn’t help but smile at the thought of her mother’s scandalized face if the Duchess of Griffinshire ever found out an outlaw had been in her bedchambers. What a story that would make in the capital; the perfect compliment to the two already existing rumors about her activities in bed. 

The next morning Clarke inquired about The Hood over breakfast, carefully leaving out the fact that he had been hiding in her chambers. Dante looked a little startled when she revealed she knew the castle was infiltrated but Cage didn’t hesitate before telling her they had no luck capturing him. 

“Don’t worry though, Lady Clarke. I will find Bellamy Blake and I will string him up like a pig for his crimes against the crown.” 

Clarke choked down her bread and cheese, a little startled by Cage’s intensity. “What exactly did Master Blake do to become an outlaw in the first place? There were some murmurs about him in the capital, but I assumed they were all blown far out of proportion by the street peddlers that carried them from the north.” 

“They certainly were,” Dante assured her. “Some of the commoners are trying to turn this criminal into some kind of folk hero, when in reality he is simply a murderer, a traitor, and a thief.” 

Clarke looked between her two hosts. “The people support him?” 

“Oh yes,” Cage said bitterly. “The ignorant lot of them think he’s here to save them from their civic duties. Simpletons as they are, all they care about is money. We take it from them to pay for the king’s noble and just war, something they should be proud to contribute to. Blake takes it back and gives some to the people, though no doubt keeps most for himself and his pathetic crew of delinquents. Rather than stop and think about the fact they are aiding and abetting a convicted murderer, they just follow the money.” 

“Who did he murder?” Clarke thought back to his dark eyes, the way he practically melted from the shadows. There had been something dangerous about him, she reflected, yet at the time she surprisingly hadn’t been afraid, merely shocked. 

Dante winced at the head of the table. “I’m not sure this is an entirely appropriate conversation for a young lady.” 

“Please, my lord,” Clarke begged, as sweetly as possible. “I only wish to better understand the circumstances of my new home.” 

With a sigh Dante nodded to his son and Cage turned to Clarke, a hard look in his eye. “Eight months ago Blake’s sister was arrested for assaulting a tax collector in their village. The man was simply going about his job when the girl attacked him. Naturally, Sir Emerson couldn’t let that stand and arrested the girl. He brought her back here and, according to our laws approved of by the county council, she was sentenced to death by hanging.” 

Clarke’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. The punishment seemed a bit harsh, but then again she didn’t know the details of this girl’s attack. 

“Blake showed up here the next morning,” Cage continued, unaware of Clarke’s discomfort. “He argued that she should be released because she was not yet of age; that she hadn’t actually attacked Emerson. It was all excuses. He had to be forcibly removed and was threatened with arrest himself before he left. Somehow, he managed to stop her execution. Shot an arrow right through the rope and freed two other criminals while at it. Our men easily cornered him and his sister and Blake, ever the brute, killed two of them before he was taken into custody. The sister got away, but at that point it was clear we had captured the nastier of the two. He was jailed and sentenced to hang the following day for murder, conspiracy against the crown, and aiding and abetting known criminals. Unfortunately, he was freed in the night, leaving another dead guard in his wake. A month later he reappeared with a gang of criminals and began his reign of terror in the forest, stealing from whoever passes through. About three months ago he began raiding the town itself. Last night was his first attack in the castle and he left yet another dead guard, a man with a wife and children, in his wake.” 

Swallowing hard, Clarke looked down at her hands. She now felt incredibly guilty for allowing the outlaw to get away unscathed. Though deep down Clarke supposed she must have known he had to have committed awful crimes to be declared an outlaw, Clarke hadn’t known the extent of his deeds the night before. 

“There is no need to fear, my Lady.” Cage’s voice was softer than Clarke had ever heard it before. She looked up and met his eyes; they were full of concern and determination. “You will be kept safe, I promise. I will put one of my best men in charge of your protection, Sir Lovejoy. Rest assured that The Hood will be captured and he will face justice for his crimes.” 

Clarke nodded tightly and offered a small smile. Dante quickly changed the topic to their plans for the day but as the father and son exchanged schedules, Clarke couldn’t help but dwell on what Cage had told her. It made her sick to think about; the fact that a murderer had been so close, somewhere so personal, and that she had let it happen. 

“Excuse me, I need to go meet with my ladies in waiting.” 

The two men bid her good day without much of a second glance and Clarke was glad for the lack of attention. She quickly found Charlotte and Roma and let them distract her from her thoughts as they filled her in on the local gossip they heard from the night before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I already had this written and I figured I may as well post it to give people better sense of the story. From now on updates will (hopefully) be once or twice a week. I hope you like it!


	3. Chapter Three

It had been nearly four weeks and Bellamy still couldn’t stop thinking about Lady Clarke. At this point, it was simply infuriating how often his mind wandered back to her. The way her hair looked like it was made of gold in the firelight, the delicate mole above her lip, her big blue eyes. The fact that she had saved his life, twice. 

“Bellamy!” 

He stood from his perch near the fire and looked down the rocky outcrop to where his sister was staring up at him. She was nothing like the girl he had known before their lives got turned upside down. A fierce outlaw named Indra had begrudgingly taken Octavia under her wing and his little sister was almost unrecognizable now; a warrior through and through. Gone was the simple, hand stitched dress and long, loose hair. Now Octavia sported men’s clothes and intricate braids kept her dark tresses out of her eyes, courtesy of Indra. Her new look was no longer as reminiscent of their mother and that both hurt Bellamy and made him smile. 

“What is it, O?” 

“Have you seen Atom? He was suppose to come with me to deliver that grain we took on Tuesday but I can’t find him.” 

Bellamy clenched his jaw. He could handle Octavia’s new look, the way she loved to train and to fight, even how often she turned to Indra instead of him now; but the one thing he was having trouble adjusting to was his little sister and one of his men clearly being interested in one another. “He left with Murphy, Dax, and Mbege early this morning. They were heading towards the east road.” 

Octavia huffed angrily. “Of course. I’ll just take Emori instead.” 

Bellamy shook his head with a smile and threw a couple more twigs into the fire. 

“So how’s that going?” 

He looked up at Raven sitting across the fire from him rubbing the pain out of her lame leg. “How’s what going?”

She rolled her eyes. “Atom and Octavia. And you, handling it.” 

“Fuck off, Raven.” 

Raven barked out a laugh. “Always so eloquent with your words, Bellamy. Its amazing.” 

“Don’t you have work to do?” 

“Don’t you?” 

He shook his head in frustration but smiled, unable to keep a straight face. Of all the members of his ragtag gang, Raven was certainly on his shortlist of favorites. Technically, she wasn’t an outlaw. But she was a damn good blacksmith who was refused work in every town she came to partially because of her busted leg but mostly because of her gender. When she got caught up in the middle of one of their raids and saw the shitty state of their weapons, she had insisted on joining. 

In the several months since he had received his status as an enemy of the state and the title of The Hood, Bellamy’s gang had grown to a fair size. There was Indra, the scariest woman Bellamy had ever met who refused to tell anyone her backstory but had clearly been through some shit. Murphy had joined mostly because Bellamy saved his life but partially because he wanted to fight anyone and anything. He brought Mbege, Dax, and Atom with him as a package deal. They had been raiding the forest roads for a year already, too poor to do anything else, and had no qualms about violence or criminal activity. Emori showed up soon after, she and Murphy had something together so it made since for her to join. Monty, who Bellamy had freed with Octavia, was the most peaceful and friendly person Bellamy had ever met yet had nowhere else to go and stuck with the siblings as a result. A couple others such as Monroe, Harper, and Fox had heard about what he was doing and, facing no prospects at home, decided to come to the forest and join in his effort. Miller had joined soon after, ignoring Bellamy’s protests about how Polaris needed him and insisting that he could do more good helping the gang. They were a little dysfunctional and certainly eclectic but overall they worked well together. 

Bellamy spent the rest of the morning out in the forest hunting alone. As much as he loved his gang, he still valued his quiet hours alone with just the birds and the trees and his bow. It was less peaceful than before. Now, whenever he shot a deer or a rabbit he saw the faces of those he had been forced to kill. Heard their last, strangled breaths and saw the light leave their eyes. But he deserved that; to have his sanctuary poisoned by his sins. Nobody should be able to kill and forget about it. As much as he might have wanted to pretend he was still a bastard from Polaris, he couldn’t go back to that time. Now he was The Hood, the infamous outlaw of Weatherton Forest and all the pressure and regret that came with that title rested on his shoulders. 

The first sign something was wrong when he returned to camp was blood on the leaves and the utter lack of people around the perimeter. “Miller, where the hell is everyone?” he called out, anxiously following the trail of blood into camp. 

Miller materialized, his face grim. “We have a bit of a situation.” 

“Mind elaborating?” 

“Atom is dead. He was stabbed by a member of the Guard on the east road.” 

“Fuck,” Bellamy murmured, wiping a hand across his face, his mind automatically worried about Octavia and how she would cope. “What the hell did they get into out there?” 

“Come see for yourself,” Miller jerked his head back towards camp and Bellamy followed. Harper, Monroe, and Mbege all avoided Bellamy’s eyes as they milled around camp, determinedly focused on their various chores. Raven was outside the cave they were using as headquarters tinkering with some metal. The look she gave him was enough to warn him that whatever Miller wanted to show him wasn’t going to improve his day much.

It took Bellamy’s eyes a moment to adjust to the dim light of the cave but when they did he felt his stomach drop. 

“Fuck.” 

Lady Clarke of Griffinshire was gagged, blindfolded, and bound. Her once fine dress was muddy and torn around the hem and her hair was falling out of its delicately pinned braid. There were a couple scratches on her face and dried tear marks in the dirt on her cheeks. 

“That’s all you have to say? This is the biggest loot we have ever gotten and everyone is fucking pissed about it.” 

Bellamy’s eyes darted up to where Murphy was slumped in the corner, bloody and bruised but very much alive. “You did this?” 

“Mbege, Atom, Dax, and me.” 

Bellamy felt his blood boil in anger. “And Atom, he died for this?” 

“Sir Lovejoy was with her. We gave him what was coming to him but he got Atom good before we could take him down. We carried him back and brought the loot.” 

“God dammit, Murphy!” Bellamy exploded. “Are you out of your damn mind?”

“The ransom for this bitch is-”

“I don’t give a fuck what the ransom for her is going to be! Atom is dead, you killed a member of Cage’s Honor Guard, and now it looks like we are the kind of people who kidnap innocent women!” 

“To be fair, she was traveling in our forest with one guard so I’m not sure what she expected,” Dax interjected from the mouth of the cave. 

Bellamy turned to him furiously. “We do not steal people. I thought I made that clear months ago.” 

“We’re criminals, Bellamy, in case you didn’t realize that,” Murphy pushed himself up to his feet, glaring hard at Bellamy. “You aren’t any better. Last time I checked The Hood’s wanted poster is the same as mine. Theft, murder, betrayal of the crown, should I go on?” 

“This is not who we are,” Bellamy replied, his voice shaking from his effort to stay calm. 

Murphy was flippant with his response. “It is now.” 

He stalked out of the cave, Dax following close behind. Bellamy turned to Miller watching him grimly. “Keep an eye on them. And send someone out to get Octavia and Emori. What a fucking mess.” 

 

*** 

 

Clarke stayed as still and silent as she could, listening to the retreating footsteps of whom she assumed was Miller. Everything hurt. Her hands were bound too tight, the gag in her mouth made her feel like she was choking, her eyes still stung with tears, her body was bruised, and the cut on her cheek still ached. All she could think of was the way Lovejoy’s lifeless body had crumpled to the ground. Panic rose deep in her gut again. It had been her first time watching someone die. Dante and Cage had assured her should would be perfectly safe with Lovejoy and it had been so long since Clarke had last ridden a horse somewhere other than the palace courtyard that she couldn’t resist the temptation of the forest in the midmorning sun. The first hour had been wonderful, but then everything went terribly wrong terribly fast.

She started when a pair of warm hands gently touched her face, a finger delicately tracing the skin just under the cut on her chin. The hands moved again, this time into her hair. When the piece of dirty cloth covering her eyes fell away, Bellamy’s face was so close that it consumed nearly her entire field of vision. She heard herself make a startled sound in her throat, but the noise seemed distant. 

“Its okay, I’m not going to hurt you.” His voice was so soft, so gentle that she almost believed it. Bellamy brushed a stray curl out of her eyes and suddenly the reality of her situation came rushing back to her. Clarke began to twist and struggle in her restraints. She was captured by a band of cutthroat murderers and thieves; she had to get away. 

“Hey, slow down there. You are going to hurt yourself.” 

Clarke tried to tell him to leave her alone but the gag turned her words into a pitiful gurgle. Suddenly his fingers were back at her jaw, freeing her from the gag. 

“Get your dirty hands off me, you filthy murderer!” 

Bellamy’s eyes widened and a range of emotions flickered across his face until his features became hard and unreadable. He acquiesced, however, and lifted his hands off her and into the air like he was surrendering. “Of course, your grace.” Sarcasm dripped from his words and for some reason Clarke felt fresh tears pricking at her eyes when he backed away. 

“Raven!” Bellamy shouted out without breaking his gaze away from her. Clarke frowned in confusion until a beautiful dark haired woman who looked to be about her age limped into the cave. She glanced over at Clarke before looking to Bellamy. “What is it?” 

“I need you to watch her,” he jerked his head towards Clarke. “I’m going to go deal with Murphy.” 

Raven nodded, eyeing Clarke again. “Harper and Monroe went to find Octavia. Monty is still a little shaken up; he’s the one that tried to treat Atom.” 

“Fuck, this is why we need an actual healer.” Clarke watched as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “I’ll talk to him, just clean her up and keep her here until we figure out what to do.” 

As Bellamy left the cave Raven sat down across from Clarke. Her leg was braced, Clarke noticed, and she was dressed in men’s clothing. She had a bit of a wild look about her and fierce dark eyes. Under different circumstances, Clarke thought she could like the woman. 

“So you’re the one they are all talking about in town, huh?” Clarke bit her tongue at the familiar words, once again regretting ever letting Bellamy get away all those weeks ago. “Lady Clarke of Griffinshire, straight from the palace in Jaha. I’m from the south too, you know,” Raven smiled. “I was there a couple months ago. I heard what they are all saying about you down there.” 

Feeling her face harden, Clarke turned away and said nothing. 

“For the record, I think they are all a bunch of assholes. And I sincerely hope that the rumors are true because hey, good for you getting a marquis and a princess.” 

“Are you mocking me?”

Raven laughed and it sounded a little like a bark. “No, I fully support empowered women who go for what they want. Men do it all the time, so why shouldn’t we? More women should go after what they want, and not just when it comes to sex. When it comes to their ambitions, their skills, all of that.” 

Clarke eyed her suspiciously. “Is that why you are here, with them? You wanted this life?” 

“I guess,” Raven replied as she stood to grab a bucket of water that rested by the fire. She moved back over to where Clarke was sitting and tore a strip of cloth off a nearby blanket. “I’m a damn good blacksmith but nobody took me seriously because I’ve got tits. Bellamy and his crew didn’t have a problem with that.” Clarke could feel her eyes widen at the other woman’s vulgar language. It was surprising to hear a woman speak so candidly, but also so very refreshing after twenty years of forced civility. Raven began to wipe at the dirt and blood on Clarke’s face. “I’m sure you’ve heard Cage’s spin on Bellamy and all of us, and I doubt Murphy helped our reputation much this morning, but you won’t be hurt here. I promise. If there is one thing Bellamy doesn’t stand for its unnecessary violence, especially against women.” 

Clarke scoffed. “Ah, so he’s a murderer with a heart of gold,” she replied tersely, voice full of bitter sarcasm. 

Leaning back, Raven let her gaze wash over Clarke’s face for a moment. “Yeah, he is.” Her tone was deeply serious. Clarke narrowed her eyes but let the subject drop. 

***

Octavia had reacted exactly as Bellamy imagined she would after seeing Atom’s body. First she tried to push through him to get to Clarke, wanting to release her anger on the person she deemed most responsible. Then, when Bellamy stopped her, she whipped around and yelled scathing insults at Murphy and Dax. It was Indra who finally managed to calm her down, whispering something in a hushed tone and leading the mournful girl towards the edge of camp. 

Monty watched them go. “If I had better medicine or more training maybe I could have-”

“No,” Bellamy turned, shaking his head at the younger man. “You did your best Monty, there wasn’t much anybody could do for him. We all knew what Lovejoy was capable of, this isn’t a surprise.” His last words were directed at Murphy and Dax, the latter of which had the decency to look guiltily at the forest floor while Murphy rolled his eyes. 

“I can’t believe you are still pissed about this. We got the haul of the century, and Atom knew what he was getting into when he joined. We’ve all known from the beginning this is a risky job. I’m sorry your psycho sister is being prissy but-” 

With two strides Bellamy was at Murphy throat. “First of all, a twenty year old woman is not ‘haul.’ Second, don’t you ever insult my sister again. Do you understand?”

Murphy choked out a yes and Bellamy dropped him, glaring as Murphy gasped for breath. He shot Bellamy a scathing look in return before scrambling up and stalking into the now darkening forest, Emori close on his heels. 

“What are we going to do about the girl?” Monty’s voice broke Bellamy’s eyes away from Murphy’s retreating form. He sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes. 

“I have no idea. We have to give her back, obviously. But unless we ask for something in return we are going to look weak. Cage now has a perfect opportunity to turn popular opinion against us though, maybe even get the extra support from the south that he has been threatening. Miller said she has close ties to the royal family. This little stunt is going to make us famous in the worst way.” 

“I mean, our reputation can’t get too much worse can it?” Monroe asked, offering Monty a well-deserved cup of ale. 

“If the royal family gets involved in this, we are dead. As long as it stays local and they can’t bring in more knights, we have the upper hand. But with reinforcements they can easily sweep the forest, prevent us from raiding in town, and keep patrols in every village. But that’s beside the point. This isn’t us, we don’t kidnap people.” 

“No we just steal and murder. Get off your high horse. The Hood is just as bad as the rest of us,” Dax said. Bellamy gave him a dark, warning look but didn’t respond. After all, he was right. 

They ate dinner in silence that night, huddled around the small fire in the middle of camp. Octavia didn’t join them; neither did Raven who was still in the cave with Clarke. Atom’s death hung heavily over the group, he was their first member to die and though none of them were strangers to death this one felt different. When he finished, Bellamy grabbed some meat, bread, and a canteen of water before pushing up from the ground and stalking over to the cave entrance. 

Raven was busy undoing the braids in Clarke’s hair, the two talking softly, when he walked in. Clarke whipped around at his footfalls, causing her to wince as her action made Raven’s fingers tug on her hair painfully. The blonde eyed him warily as he moved closer to the women. 

“How’s Octavia?” 

He shrugged at Raven’s question. “How do you think?” The words came out a bit angrier than Bellamy had intended but Raven didn’t comment on it. “There’s food outside for you. I’ll take over watching her.” 

Raven nodded and used the cave wall to help her stand. Before she left, Bellamy grabbed her arm. “Try talking to O for me? She won’t listen to me because she knows I didn’t approve of her and Atom but-”

“I got it, no problem.” 

“Thanks, Raven.” 

The blacksmith shrugged as if to say it was no big deal before shuffling out into the night. When Bellamy turned back to the Clarke, she was resolutely staring at the ground. Her face was cleaner than before, but her hair was now even messier. Raven hadn’t finished undoing it before he interrupted. 

“Here,” he set the plate of food beside her and held out the canteen as an offering. She didn’t look up causing him to sigh out of weariness more than frustration. “Come on, you have to be thirsty and hungry.”

“I don’t want your help.” 

Bellamy locked his jaw and crouched down so he was on her level. He nudged her arm with the canteen. “Drink.” 

Finally her eyes met his and Bellamy couldn’t help but shiver at the intensity in them. “Untie me and I’ll drink.” 

He hesitated for a moment before pulling a knife out of his boot. Grabbing her hands, he carefully sliced through the ropes binding them, grinding his teeth when he saw the angry, red marks that had been left in their wake. He did the same to the rope between her feet a moment later. This time, when he offered the water, she brought it to her lips desperately. He watched her drink, transfixed by the way her throat moved and the little trails that stray droplets left as they rolled down her pale neck. Bellamy looked away suddenly, feeling guilty for letting his eyes crawl across her skin. When she moved onto the food he stood and stoked the small fire a bit to increase its warmth. 

Out of nowhere, Bellamy felt two small arms wrap around his shoulders and something sharp and cold press into his throat. “Take me back to the castle now or I’ll kill you.” 

More than anything, Bellamy was impressed with her bravery. 

“I don’t think this is your best idea, princess.” 

“I don’t think I asked for you opinion, outlaw.” 

“There is a camp full of heavily armed people outside and believe me, some of them would not mind it too much if you killed me."

Clarke was pressed so close to him that he could feel her swallow nervously against his shoulder. “Not much faith in your own people,” she remarked, her voice steady and calm. The tip of whatever she had against his throat pushed a little farther into his skin causing Bellamy to wince. 

“You haven’t thought this through,” he said slowly. 

Clarke tried to push him towards the door and Bellamy used her moment of distraction against her. Dropping his head back against her shoulder, he grabbed her arm and twisted it away from his neck. Before she could react he had turned and pushed her back against the cave wall, his body trapping her against the stone. Reaching down, he grabbed Clarke's hand and glared at the ornate hairpin it held before raising his eyes to her startled face. “I thought ladies were suppose to have manners,” he murmured, not shying away from her now venomous glare. “I untie you, give you food and water, and you try to kill me.” 

“Yes, after your men killed my guard and dragged me here to present to you as ‘loot.’ How rude of me to fight back. Please accept my most sincere apologies, Hood.” 

Bellamy slammed her hand against the cave wall, causing Clarke to cry out in surprise as the hairpin dropped to the ground where Bellamy kicked it out of her reach. He reached into her golden hair and began to pull out all the leftover pins until her tresses fell in soft ringlets. When he was done, Bellamy pushed away from her but didn’t let her out of his sight. Clarke slumped down to the ground; arms crossed in anger, and refused to look at him. 

“I never ordered them to take you or to kill your guard.”

Clarke scoffed. 

“In fact, I cursed all of them out for it. You’re right, you shouldn’t have been attacked or captured and I’m sorry for it.” 

Her dark glare met his eyes again; she furled her brows together as if trying to solve a riddle. 

“They didn’t hurt you did they?” 

She gave him a pointed look. 

“That’s not what I mean. They didn’t touch you?” 

Clarke’s eyes widened when she realized what he was implying. “No, they didn’t touch me,” she muttered. 

“Good.” Bellamy picked up the hairpins scattered around the cave floor. “Go to sleep. I’ll get you home in the morning.” He paused just before leaving, turning to her and unable to hide the amusement in his voice. “I’ll be keeping watch just outside in case you get any more ideas, princess.” Yes, she nearly killed him, but for some reason he was proud of her for it. She had taken matters into her own hands and Bellamy respected that.

 

*** 

 

“I’m a lady, not a princess,” Clarke murmured haughtily but Bellamy was already out of earshot. 

It had been stupid to think she could take him down with a hairpin, but Clarke didn’t regret trying. She was so sick of being underestimated, of being looked down upon as weak because of her gender and station. Her conversation with Raven had instilled this in her. Clarke had been unhappy for a long time, but now she could finally put words to what made her feel so unhappy. She felt useless, like chess piece being dragged around the board unable of controlling herself or effecting change. She was sick of it. All her life, her mother had manipulated her at court to be perfectly poised to marry Wells. When Finn and Lexa came along, they had been opportunities to make her own choices, no matter how ill advised they may have been. Then everything came out and Diana exerted her control over Clarke, placing her into the control of the Wallaces. And now she was imprisoned by a band of cutthroat outlaws. 

Clarke lashed out angrily, kicking at the plate Bellamy had brought in out of frustration. 

She wanted to be more like Raven who ignored what was expected of her and forged her own path, even if it landed her in the company of Bellamy Blake. 

With an irritated sigh, Clarke leaned back against the cave wall. Raven had tried to explain to her that Bellamy and his gang weren’t at all what Cage had told her, but the explanations had largely fallen on deaf ears. Of course Bellamy loved his sister, but that didn’t excuse his actions. And although Raven claimed they were fighting to aid the poverty stricken peasants of Weatherton, Clarke had yet to see any evidence of this. From what she had seen of the town and county, people were doing well. Certainly no expenses were spared in the castle and so often castles were a reflection of the land they controlled. 

A small voice in the back of her mind reminded her that the royal palace back in Jaha certainly was not a reflection of the kingdom, but Clarke didn’t want to doubt the narrative Cage had given her. She wanted to hate Bellamy. She wanted to hate all his outlaws, even Raven. She wanted to hate the Wallaces too and her mother and the queen. 

 

***

 

Bellamy woke Lady Clarke up just before sunrise, nudging her shoulder until she blinked into wakefulness. It clearly took her a moment to realize where she was, the softness of her still sleep-laden face melting back into disdain as she became more aware. He almost regretted having to wake her up. 

“Get up, I’m taking you back to Weatherton.” He had decided the night before to just take her back while it was still dark. It felt wrong to try and collect a ransom. Clarke remained where she was and scrunched her eyebrows in puzzlement, clearly trying to work out how on earth he had gotten his ransom so quickly. With an irritated huff at her lack of compliance, Bellamy pulled her up. “Come on, princess. We don’t have all day.” 

“I told you before, I’m not a princess.” 

“I really don’t care what your title is,” he replied, tying a piece of cloth around her hands, careful to not make it too tight. “All I care about is that you don’t give me any trouble. I’m trying to help you, whether or not you believe that.” 

“It is a little hard to believe while you are tying my hands up.” 

He locked his jaw in frustration, not bothering to tell her how extremely temporary the hand bindings were, and pulled another strip of cloth from his pocket to blindfold her. 

“Oh, this makes me trust you even more.” 

“Shut up. I can’t have you seeing where our camp is located.” 

Despite her protests, Clarke clasped his sleeve tightly as he led her out of the cave, he placed a hand on her back to help balance and direct her. Raven watched their progress from the fire with amusement. He flicked her off. 

“Okay, I’m going to lift you onto a horse now, alright. I'm untying your hands to make this part easier, but I swear if you pull anything I'll through you over the horse like a sack. ” 

Bellamy watched Clarke’s frown tighten but she nodded. After placing her freed hands on his shoulders, his own found her hips beneath her layers of skirts and easily lifted her up onto his horse. A moment later, he mounted the steed and settled into the saddle right behind her. Grasping the reins with one hand and holding her close to his chest with the other, Bellamy kicked his heels and headed off into the shadowy woods. Clarke clung to him, one hand clutching his thigh, the other wrapped around his arm where it held her waist. 

“Steady, I got you,” he murmured into her ear. It was meant to sound reassuring, but the huskiness of his own voice surprised Bellamy. He had always found Clarke pretty, in fact he had been stunned by her when he first saw her in the dim light of her chambers all those weeks ago. But now, with her pressed firmly against his chest, nestled securely between his thighs with his arm tight around her waist, it was hard to ignore how attracted he was to her. The fierceness and wit she had demonstrated the night before didn’t help anything either. Clarke of Griffinshire was a force of nature and Bellamy wasn’t sure he would be able to withstand the storm. 

“You didn’t ask for a ransom did you?” Clarke’s voice was little more than a murmur against the clatter of the horse’s hooves in the underbrush. 

“What make you say that?” Bellamy asked, noting the way her grip on his arm tightened as his breath ghosted over the shell of her ear. 

“Its too early. There is no way you would have been able to negotiate it so soon.” 

“Smart, princess.” 

They fell back into silence again but just as Bellamy began to let his mind wander to all he has to do after taking her to Weatherton, Clarke spoke again. “Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why didn’t you ask for ransom?” 

Bellamy shrugged, causing the arm around her waist to drift dangerously close to her bust. “I told you, I never intended for you to be captured. It didn’t seem right to ask for a ransom. Besides, it would be more trouble than it’s worth.” 

Silence fell between them again, this time lasting longer. The sun was nearly up and they didn’t have long to go when Clarke asked, “Do you really give the money back to the peasants?” 

He smiled into her hair. “The Hood robs from the rich to give to the poor, my lady. Haven’t you heard the stories?” 

“I’m serious, Blake. Do you really give back what you steal?” 

“Yes. Every penny of it and any food we can spare. We have to keep a little, to survive, but everything we get we give to those who need it.” 

Clarke was quiet a moment. “I have been in Weatherton for a month now and I have yet to see any signs of poverty.”

“That’s because you don’t know where to look. The poor don’t live in the castle, princess.” 

“But in the town as well. The market always seems to be bustling, children look happy and well fed and-”

“How many streets have you been down in Weatherton?”

Clarke thought for a moment before responding, her voice quiet and almost embarrassed. “One.” 

“And how many villages have you visited?”

“None,” her response was quicker this time, but her tone was still thick with shame. 

“You won’t find poverty on the main street, nor in the castle. Once you open your eyes and really look for it though? Its everywhere.” 

Bellamy slowed his horse as they reached the edge of the forest. Weatherton Castle loomed ominously over the town in the early morning light. Keeping one hand steady on Clarke’s hip, Bellamy used the other to remove her blindfold. “Welcome home, princess.” 

He slipped off his horse and held up a hand to help Clarke down. She brushed it aside and hopped off gracefully without aid. It made Bellamy smile. Clarke looked up at him, her expression hard to read. “How many men have you killed?” 

Bellamy swallowed thickly and dropped his eyes from hers in shame. “Five.” He turned his head and looked out towards the town again, resentment building within him at what Cage had turned him into. But then again, Bellamy had nobody to blame but himself. “You’re free to go. I’ll stay here until I see you reach the gates. From there I’m sure a guard will escort you back to the castle.” 

Clarke frowned at him. “Why do you care whether I reach the gates, you have no money depending on my safe return.” 

Somehow her lack of faith in his capacity for good him made Bellamy feel guiltier than all the sins he carried. She truly believed he was a monster. Maybe he really was. “Believe it or not I care about things other than money.” 

He watched her jaw tighten. 

“I regret not calling out to the guards that night. It was a mistake.” Without another word, Clarke turned and began to walk towards Weatherton. 

Bellamy watched her retreat, something heavy settling in his chest. He hadn’t told anyone about his encounter with the future duchess all those weeks ago. It was a memory he had savored, though. Something that had both puzzled and intrigued him. It had kept him tethered, the notion that someone as beautiful and pure as the Lady of Griffinshire had believed him worthy of saving. Disappointment churned in his gut at her words. For whatever reason, knowing she held him in contempt was more painful than memory of his wicked deeds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! I'd love to hear what you think in the comments! 
> 
> Feel free to follow me on tumblr too! simonettabetta.tumblr.com


	4. Chapter Four

“I told you already,” Clarke replied, her voice deceptively calm as rage burned in her belly. “They came out of nowhere and attacked. Sir Lovejoy told me to run and I did, as fast as I could. Then I hid and when I was sure I hadn’t been followed I made my way back to the road and followed it back here to Weatherton.” 

Cage watched her carefully, disbelief painted across his features. Clarke was sitting in Dante’s private study, her dress still covered in mud, her hair wilder than it had been in years. Charlotte carefully cleaned her face and hands while Dante and his son questioned Clarke. 

“The men didn’t attack you?”

“I got away first, they only went after Lovejoy. I don’t think they were concerned with me. They just wanted the horses I suppose.” 

Cage scoffed. “Those cuts on your face then? The bruise near your eye? The red marks on your wrists? How did you get those?”

“Branches, as I was running,” Her voice was hard and unforgiving. 

“Cage, son, please let it rest. The lady has been through enough-”

“It doesn’t make sense, father!” Cage nearly shouted, turning on Dante. The look on the earl’s face sent shivers down Clarke’s spine. Cage cleared his throat, his father’s infuriated expression clearly affecting him as well. “Why would they leave her? Why would they go through the trouble of killing Sir Lovejoy and not even try to take her?” 

“Why would you doubt her word?” 

The room fell silent at the earl’s question. 

“Father, I didn’t,” Cage stammered, trying to find the right words. Finally, he turned to Clarke. “I’m sorry, my lady. I did not mean to insult you or to question your honesty.” 

Clarke nodded tightly, her lips drawn tight. 

“My dear, please go to your chambers and rest. I’m sorry for all you have been through. If you should need anything please do not hesitate to fetch me.” Dante smiled at her, the familiar kindness returning to his eyes. 

“Thank you, sir,” Clarke replied quietly. 

Once back in her chambers, Clarke finally peeled the tattered, muddied gown off while Charlotte prepared a bath. The younger woman kept sneaking glances over at her, her face a mixture of concern and awe. She could tell Charlotte was dying to ask her about her misadventure in the forest, just waiting for Clarke to give her an indication she could, but Clarke was exhausted. The last thing she wanted to do was rehash the lie she had told the Wallaces. More than anything, Clarke just wanted to pretend the whole event had never happened, but that was quite impossible. 

Before long, Charlotte left and Clarke sank into the warm tub. As she let the water wash away the physical evidence of her ordeal, Clarke repeated the lie she had told Dante and Cage, careful to remember the details in case she was asked to retell the story later. She wasn’t quite sure what had possessed her to lie; to deny that she had been kidnapped and held captive by The Hood and his motely gang of criminals. For whatever reason, when she was sat down in front of Dante and his son, she began to lie rather than incriminate her captors. Maybe it was the guilt she still felt for lying to Bellamy earlier by telling him she regretted not turning him in when she had the chance. 

Because it had been a lie, after all. She might as well admit that to herself. 

No, Bellamy Blake certainly was not her favorite person. Clarke didn’t even particularly like him. Somehow, though, she was glad she had helped him that night. In fact, she didn’t even regret lying to Dante and Cage to protect him this morning. This of course made no sense to Clarke. Bellamy had given her no reason to protect him, he had openly admitted to his crimes and whether or not he ordered her abduction, the fact it had happened spoke volumes of the men he chose to keep company with. 

And yet, he had refused to demand a ransom. He even waited to make sure she made it to the town’s gates safely before leaving; at he said that he would. Clarke sank further into the water, letting her hair float around her head. It was all very confusing when it came to Bellamy Blake. 

The way his one arm encompassed her whole waist, how his large hands felt so warm on her hips even through the layers of her dress, the gravel of his husky voice and the warmth of his breath on her ear, the solidness of his body behind hers and the strength of his thighs astride her own certainly was not helping her objectivity. Neither was the fact that while blindfolded and bound, Clarke had instinctively trusted Bellamy to keep her safe despite his status as an outlaw and his infamy in Weatherton. 

What he had told her about the poor stuck with Clarke as well. The fact that he really did give all that he took back to those who needed it and how well he had schooled her on her own ignorance when it came to the poverty of Weatherton. 

And yet, he was no innocent. 

That was why she had told him she regretted not turning him in, Clarke realized. It was to stop whatever she felt happening between them. Whatever camaraderie or exchange of favors or mutual unexpected respect that had lingered after their ride was dangerous. She didn’t want to like Bellamy and the easiest way to accomplish that was to convince herself she didn’t and to convince him of the same thing. 

*** 

A week later, Clarke declared her intention to truly get to know the town of Weatherton, beyond the main road. 

Cage and Dante exchanged a look across the dinner table. 

“What do you mean, my dear?” Dante asked. 

“I’ve only ever seen the main road leading to the castle, if Weatherton is to be my home for a while, I should like to see more of it.” 

“But certainly the castle is a more suitable place for a lady such as yourself.” 

“I know it is a bit unorthodox, my lord,” Clarke replied to Dante in her most innocent voice. “But I have only ever seen cities in the south and would like to understand this region better.” She turned her gaze to Cage, looking up through her eye lashes, the way her mother had taught her when she turned fifteen and the campaign to make her royalty began in earnest. “I would not object to an escort, if you would be willing to join me, Lord Cage.” 

Though the thought of Cage’s company made Clarke’s skin crawl, she knew it was the surest way to gain the Wallace’s trust and the increased mobility of going to town on her own eventually. Ever since the incident in the forest, Dante and Cage had refused to let her leave the castle, even to go to church. Clarke was desperate to both get out and to evaluate Bellamy’s claim that poverty laid beyond the main avenue. Though it sickened her, she was smart enough to know the best way to undermine the Wallace’s control over her was through allowing them to exert it. 

Cage eye’s flickered across her body from across the table, causing Clarke to clench her fork a little tighter to avoid grimacing. 

“It would be an honor, Lady Clarke.” 

“Today then?” 

“If you would like it, I suppose I could make that work.” 

Clarke smiled again; hoping it didn’t look too forced, and thanked Cage before excusing herself. 

She met him again at the front gate of the castle. He had a carriage ready for her, but Clarke waved it off insisting she would rather ride on horseback. A tall, well-built man was standing beside Cage, his face stony and unreadable. When he saw her inquisitive look, the earl’s son explained that the man was Lovejoy’s replacement. 

“His name is Lincoln and I’m sure he will be more effective than Lovejoy.” 

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Clarke said, nodding to her new guard. She could have sworn she saw a small smile play across his lips but it was gone in a blink. 

Cage still seemed intent on keeping her on the main street of town, but Clarke managed to veer off course by feigning lack of control over her horse. Soon they were riding down a cramped and dirty side street that looked, at first, like it belonged in an entirely different town. But as they rode on, Clarke noticed that the buildings were not so different as those she had seen before; just dirtier and emptier. Shops were bordered up, fountains were dry, and children watched her pass with gaunt faces, their mothers ushering them back inside at the sight of Cage. The contrast from the main stretch of town was startling, and Clarke felt anger brewing deep inside her. For over a month now she had been living in absolute luxury while old men sleep on the street and children begged for food. 

Cage seemed to sense her dissatisfaction. He looked over to where she was riding next to him. “They are only peasants, my lady. This is how they live.” 

She clutched her reins a little tighter. 

“Peasants or not, they are people, Lord Cage. Surely more can be done to help them.” 

Clarke caught Lincoln’s eye and something told her wanted to speak, but knew it was not his place. 

“They are beyond help,” Cage replied. He spoke slowly, as if Clarke were a child. “They don’t work because they believe The Hood will give them all they need.” 

Though she wanted to argue further, Clarke held her tongue. It would do no good to challenge Cage. However, once back in the castle courtyard, Clarke followed Lincoln to the stables rather than joining Cage back in the castle. She could tell he had wanted to say something back in town and wanted to know what his opinion was on the poverty of Weatherton. 

“Can I help you, my lady?” Lincoln eyed her curiously as he handed their horses off to a stable hand. 

“Back in town, I noticed that you wanted to say something. It was when I asked if more could be done.” 

He looked at her for a moment, as if trying to gage whether or not she was serious. “There is much more that can be done, my lady.” 

“Please, just call me Clarke. What exactly is there that can be done?”

Lincoln grimaced. “Lessen the tax burden for one thing. It’s Dante’s policy to take food and goods if people have no money. The poorest people end up with nothing left and starve.” 

Clarke frowned. “Is it all like that? The whole town?” 

“It depends,” Lincoln shrugged. “Some areas are worse, some better. But the whole county is dirt poor, the outer villages especially. Local lords can inflict their own taxes on top of Cage’s. People have just enough to get by, but no way to stock up. Larger families are moving on to rationing as well. The Wallaces are bleeding the people of Weatherton dry.” 

Slumping back against a stall door, Clarke frowned. “I had no idea. I feel terrible.” 

“Its not your fault, my lady.” 

“Clarke, and yes it is. A person of my station should be using their influence to improve the lives of those in need. It’s not right that I’m treated to a feast each night, where great amounts of food are wasted, while children are being rationed.” 

“I mean this in the kindest way, but you are the Earl’s ward. You don’t have the power he does to fix things.” 

“No,” Clarke murmured, worrying a lip between her teeth. “But I can try to help as best I can. I’ll make a case for the people; I’ll try to convince the Earl to have more compassion. In the mean time, is there anything that I can do to help them now? I have some practical training in medicine if that would help.”

“That could, there are always sick children. But, again with all due respect, it isn’t your place.” 

“I don’t care, I want to do something that actually makes a difference. I’m tried of sitting in the castle all day. Besides, Arkadia is only as strong as its people are. I’ll be doing the king a service by helping his peasants.” 

Lincoln simply nodded and told her he would help her in whatever way he could. That night, as Clarke lay in her darkened bedchamber, she felt happier than she had in years. Yes, it had been appalling to discover the extent of the county’s impoverishment that had been hidden right under her nose, but now she could find some purpose. She could be of help to someone and begin to live her life how she wanted, not how she was instructed. 

*** 

Bellamy really wasn’t all that surprised when Johanna Jordan excitedly told him about the Lady of Griffinshire’s visit to Polaris. He was there bringing some grain and meat to his old village, a task he always assigned either himself, Miller, or Octavia so they would have an excuse to visit home. Johanna had eagerly invited him into her humble, cramped cottage to make him dinner and give him updates on village events and gossip. 

“The most beautiful young lady I ever have seen, other than my daughter, God rest her soul, of course. But an angel too, I swear it. The Carter’s new baby was sick, we all were convinced he would die, but Lady Clarke knew exactly what to do to heal him. He’s as healthy and plump as a summer apple now. She brought food too, told us it was surplus from the castle itself. And you would never believe it but Lady Clarke knows Jasper! I asked after him and she told me that she knows him well! Can you believe that, Bellamy? My grandson, in the service of a future duchess!” 

Bellamy smiled into his stew. “We are all very proud of Jasper, ma’am.”

“Oh yes, if only his mother could see him now.” She chatted on excitedly as he ate, moving on to other events and stories, such as how her chickens got loose the Sunday before, but she always came back to Clarke’s visit. 

Bellamy tuned most of it out, lost in his own thoughts. He had heard similar stories from people for a little over a month now, all excitedly sharing how the new lady of the castle had visited their village, treated their sick, and brought food and supplies with her. In town the stories were even more pervasive. According to Echo, Clarke was making near daily rounds to tend to those who were sick but too poor to afford a doctor. Clearly she had listened to him, looked beyond what she was shown in Weatherton, and had found the dire situation he knew all too well. Bellamy wasn’t sure what the Wallaces thought of her efforts, but she was certainly making things easier on him. He still raided as much as he always had, but now he could afford to spread out his loot a bit more as the incredible demand for aid decreased little by little. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t proud of her too. It was heartening to see a noble taking up the cause. 

Her cold words still stuck with him though, they had ever since that morning. In the place of disappointment and self-loathing, anger and bitterness had grown in his heart. What right did she have to judge him? Her whole life had been lived in an ivory tower, every meal provided, every desire granted. She had no idea where he came from, what he had been through, or why he did what he did. Even now, as she worked to help the poor, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was really just due to some elitist savior complex rather than genuine care. 

Before long he took his leave of Johanna, kissing her on the cheek and thanking her for dinner. 

“You just take care of yourself and your sister. Be good.” She patted his shoulder fondly.

“I will, ma’am,” he replied, before melting into the shadows of the night. 

***   
Clarke heard her fair share of stories about The Hood while making her rounds in town and out in the villages. It seemed there were no shortage of stories and the peasants seemed to have no problem sharing them, despite her connection to the earl and his son. When Clarke asked Lincoln if this was typical, if the peasants were always so open about their support for the outlaw, he replied that amongst each other they were. 

“Usually around nobles, like you, they stay quiet. But they must trust you, you help them and just like he does so they don’t think they will be punished by you,” he continued. 

Clarke frowned slightly at his comparison. “Are you saying you support him, Lincoln?”

“He helps people, my people, same as you, and I clearly support you.” 

“Yes, but he does so illegally. He steals and even kills.” 

Lincoln shot her a curious look. “What impression do you get from the townsfolk, my lady?” No matter how many times she corrected him, he never called her Clarke. “Do they fear him?”

“No, but that’s because he helps them. Perhaps they don’t know-”

“Lord Cage has made sure that everyone knows of The Hood’s sins. But in their eyes,” Lincoln swept his arm out at the townspeople milling about, “its justice. The guards that he has killed are the same that pushed around their families and friends, the same that enforce the laws that leave them in poverty.” 

“But they are simply doing their job. They don’t deserve to die for that.”

“They don’t, no, but children don’t deserve to starve to death either. We should just be thankful it isn’t us who has to make the choice of who to kill; whether a child’s life is worth more than a guard’s.” 

Clarke remained silent, contemplating Lincoln’s words. They remained in the back of her mind throughout the day, staying with her as a little girl showed her a doll one of Bellamy’s outlaws had given her, as a grandmother described the bread he had delivered himself, and as a teenaged boy told her how Bellamy had saved him from being caught by guards while hunting in the Earl’s forest. She still did not condone his actions, but she was slowly coming to better understand them. 

When she got back to Castle Weatherton, dusk was just beginning to settle. She knew that Dante and Cage would be upset she stayed out so long, they weren’t terribly fond of her new found interest in the poor and made their displeasure known, but Clarke didn’t much care what they thought. The worst they could do was to send her back to her mother, but other than some judgmental looks and condescending comments they hadn’t pushed back too much. It seemed her mother was right, the Wallaces saw the strategic value in her connection and that gave her some leeway she may not have otherwise found. 

***   
When Bellamy and Clarke finally met again, the County of Weatherton was suffering from a bought of plague. It was nothing like Clarke, or her hosts for that matter, had ever seen. The sickness began with a mild fever, which gave way to dizziness, fainting, and vomiting blood. Most of those who were unlucky enough to catch it died within hours. Despite the danger, Clarke still visited the town and local villages as often as she could. Ignoring Cage and Dante’s vehement protests, Clarke refused to abandon the people who had come to depend on her healing, especially in a time of plague. 

Clarke was doing her best to help the sick in the town’s makeshift hospital housed in the church. Pews had been removed and cots brought in and, under Clarke’s advice, quarantine had been placed on the building. Only those who were ill or medically trained were allowed to enter causing a wall of grieving and concerned family members to gather outside. Because of that, Clarke was use to a bit of commotion while she worked and paid little attention to outside distractions, focusing herself totally on the patients she tended to. That was why, when she finally looked up and around the room, Clarke was shocked to find Bellamy Blake’s dark eyes meeting her own across the building. 

Several of his fellow outlaws were there too, passing out blankets and bread. A couple she recognized but most where strangers to her, only the dark cloaks across their backs identifying them as members of his gang. Before she could think twice, Clarke marched over to where Bellamy was spreading a blanket over a little girl, smiling down at her gently. 

“What the hell do you think you are doing?” 

He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised in question. “What does it look like I’m doing?” 

“You can’t be here, you aren’t sick.” 

Bellamy’s eyes scanned her body. “You aren’t either.” 

“I’m a healer though, you aren’t. Leave, before you are infected and spread the illness.” 

Standing to his full height, Bellamy set his jaw and narrowed his eyes. “I’m not leaving. We brought supplies,” he gestured back to his friends. “We aren’t afraid of getting sick.” 

With an indignant huff, Clarke simple spat out, “You should be,” before turning on her heel and returning to her duties. Soon her thoughts were swept away by the task at hand. More patients seemed to be coming in at a steady stream and while there wasn’t much she could do to cure them Clarke made herself busy trying to make them at least comfortable. When she finally caught a break, Clarke moved to stand by the open door, looking out into the dusty square. A cool spring breeze blew in and she closed her eyes, letting it wash over her. Hearing someone come to stand beside her, Clarke opened her eyes and looked at her companion, soon shaking her head at the familiar inky black curls. 

“Its foolish of you to come here.”

“I could catch the disease anywhere, its in all the villages,” Bellamy snapped, crossing his arms. 

“That’s not what I mean. Someone will see you or report you. Guards get sick too, people who are loyal to the earl have to be treated as well. My own guard is here.” Clarke nodded to Lincoln and Bellamy followed her gaze. “Its like you are asking to be caught.” 

“I thought that was what you wanted, princess.” The cold harshness of his tone nearly made Clarke flinch. 

“I never said it wasn’t,” she responded with a huff. “I just said it was foolish. And for the last time, I’m not a princess.” Pushing off from the doorframe, Clarke walked back into the church trying not to feel guilty about her comment. The venom in his tone had surprised her, though she supposed it really shouldn’t have. After all, the last thing she told him had essentially been that she wished he had been hanged. Clarke hesitated a moment before turning around. 

“Hood, I know you came here to help,” she said in a softer tone and raised a hand to his shoulder to make him turn towards her. 

When he did turn, Clarke felt her stomach drop like lead as her eyes widened. Bellamy’s knuckles were white where they gripped the doorframe and tears of blood ran down his tanned cheeks. Suddenly he fell towards her. Clarke barely caught him in time, wobbling under his weight. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” she whispered into his ear, knowing it was a lie but totally at a loss for why she suddenly cared so much. Clarke thought she heard him murmur an apology. Clutching at Bellamy’s shoulders to keep him upright, Clarke shouted for Lincoln’s help. He was there in a moment, taking Bellamy’s weight off of her and following behind as she directed him to an empty cot. A member of Bellamy’s gang was with them before Clarke could blink, a brunette who looked a couple years younger than Clarke and like her world was ending. It had to be his sister, the one he had become an outlaw to save. 

“Bell? Bellamy!” 

“O?” 

Clarke swallowed tightly at the weakness of his voice and the way his sister cradled his head, whispering words of comfort. 

“Is he going to be okay?” There was little family resemblance; Clarke noted when the girl turned up to question her. Yet the fierceness in the girls expression was familiar. 

“I don’t know,” Clarke replied honestly. “Its impossible to tell and there is little we can do except make him comfortable. You’re his sister?” 

She nodded. “Octavia. Please, you have to save him.” Tears were now streaming down her grimy face and something in Clarke broke watching the girl beg. Clarke smiled grimly. 

“I’ll do the best I can, I promise. But you and the others should leave. It was kind to bring supplies, but the longer you are here the more likely you are to be infected. Have Father Titus check to make sure you show none of the symptoms and then wait outside, or go back to the forest. If you stay in town its likely you’ll be arrested.” 

“I can’t leave him,” Octavia whispered.

Before Clarke could open her mouth, Lincoln put a hand on her shoulder. “I will watch over his sister and then others, you continue your work.” 

Clarke could see Octavia eying him suspiciously; he was a guard after all. Even Bellamy, as dazed as he was, tried to object before Octavia shushed him. 

“Lincoln is my personal guard, he has accompanied me when I traveled to villages and throughout town to help the poor, he is a friend to those who help others in need.” Clarke smiled at Lincoln and nodded before turning back to Octavia. “You’ll be safe with him. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” 

The younger woman kissed her brother’s forehead and whispered something in his ear before following leading Lincoln back to where the rest of Bellamy’s gang huddled in a corner, watching what happened with their leader. Clarke tracked their progress for a moment before looking back down at Bellamy. She kneeled next to him, wiping at his bloodied cheeks with a wet cloth. 

“I told you it was foolish to come here,” she murmured, more fondness in her voice than she expected. 

His dark eyes struggled to focus on her. “You can’t treat me,” Bellamy rasped out between shaky breaths. “If people see you helping and tell Cage-”

“I’ll feign ignorance. To the best of Cage’s knowledge I have never seen you.”

She watched his eyebrows furrow in thought. “You didn’t tell them about the woods?”

“No.” Clarke wet the rag again, watching the clear water turn red. “I told them I ran away before I could be caught.” 

“Why?”

“Same reason you didn’t ask for a ransom.” 

Bellamy looked like he wanted to say more when a strange expression came over his face. After days treating the bleeding illness, Clarke understood the signs and quickly turned him to his side just before he vomited blood. When he was done, she turned him back over and brushed his hair back soothingly, humming a song her nursery maid has once sung to her. 

“I’m scared.” Bellamy’s voice was little more than a whisper and Clarke’s heart ached at the way he looked up at her. In that moment The Hood was simply a scared, lost little boy. 

“I know,” she whispered, trying hard to keep her voice from cracking. “I know.” 

He passed out soon after, but Clarke remained by his side, gently running her fingers through his hair and humming as her throat burned with unshed tears. At some point, on of the women helping take care of the sick rested a hand on her shoulder. Clarke nodded and stood, following the woman to where others needed help. Throughout the evening her eyes periodically flicked over to where Bellamy lay, still out cold. She had to leave before he woke up. The Wallaces forbade her to stay out past dark and Clarke didn’t want to push her luck with them. Still, she sat by Bellamy’s side an extra moment before leaving. He looked peaceful, not at all dangerous or corrupt. She wanted to hate him, to find him repulsive as she found Cage, but somehow Clarke just couldn’t. 

“Wake up, please.”

Later that night, far after her fire had burned down in the fireplace, there was as soft knock at Clarke’s door. Climbing out of bed, Clarke wrapped herself in a robe and opened it. Lincoln stood in the dark hallway. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you, my lady. I just thought you would want to know, Blake pulled through. He left with his sister about an hour ago.” 

“No, no thank you for coming Lincoln,” Clarke exclaimed a little too loudly, wincing as her words echoed down the hall. “Thank you.” Her words were quieter this time. 

He smiled, amusement in his eyes like he knew something Clarke didn’t. “No problem, my lady. Goodnight.” 

Clarke crawled back into bed with a smile, sleep coming much easier. 

The next morning her good cheer was quickly drained when she met Cage and Dante for breakfast. Turned out, not everyone in town supported The Hood and just as Clarke had predicted the day before, Father Titus had told Cage of the outlaw’s appearance in church. Lincoln, no doubt predicting this very event, had wisely fled in the night leaving no trace. Clarke could depend on feigned ignorance, but there was no way a member of the Guard could pretend not to have recognized the outlaw and his compatriots. To say that the earl and his son were enraged was an understatement. 

“Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?” Cage shouted, pacing the length of the dining room. 

“I told you, Lord Cage, I had no idea who he was, I just-”

“Well that’s why you shouldn’t go and deal with the peasants, you are just an ignorant woman who doesn’t know her goddamn place!” 

Clarke visibly withdrew away from Cage, her jaw clenching in anger. Slowly she stood from her chair. “How dare you speak to me like that? I am the daughter of-”

“Oh yes,” Cage sneered. “We all know who you are and we all know what you’ve done and why you are here.” 

There was no mistaking the implication of his words. Clarke swallowed heavily, bitter hatred building within her. When she spoke her voice was deathly calm. “You can sit here and judge me all you want, my lord. But at least I am not the one allowing my people to starve and die in the street while I live in luxury. There are far more despicable actions than that of which I am accused.”

“Cage,” Dante’s voice was dark and warning. Clarke imagined he was giving his son a withering look, but she refused to break eye contact with Cage to see. “That is quite enough. My dear lady, I do apologize my son’s lack of tact.” 

Swallowing her rage, Clarke forced a smile and turned to Dante. “Thank you.” 

“However, Cage does have a point.” She balled her fists in frustration. “It is simply too dangerous for you to continue this little hobby of yours.”

“With all due respect, my lord earl, I don’t think-”

“Now, now,” Dante held a hand up to silence Clarke’s protests. “I won’t keep you locked in the castle as Cage wishes, which I might add would be for your own protection and out of care for your wellbeing. However, I must restrict your visits to the poor to two days a week and for only a few hours at a time. In addition, several guards will now attend you at all times.” 

“And the villages?” 

“I’m sorry my dear but they are simply too dangerous. I would hate to have to write to your mother that something dreadful had happened.” 

Clarke nodded tightly and excused herself, holding in the biting comments she so wished to release. It was all so familiar. The feigned concern for her wellbeing, the condescending terms of affection, the slow, calm speech like she was a child being taught a lesson. It was the same way Diana had spoken to her before she was sent to Weatherton and the same way Finn had talked to her when she confronted him about his betrothal. All false concern and pretty words. Dante and Cage cared nothing for her wellbeing beyond the money and title it could bring them, that was clearer than ever, especially with Cage. It was why they let her have some independence, why her indiscretions back in Jaha were never mentioned. They wanted to keep her close and content so that when the offer for marriage was finally proposed, she would have no reason to decline. Was this really to be her fate? To be forever connected to two men so selfish and conceited? To be married to a man who clearly thought very little of her and had what appeared to be no respect for her? 

“No,” she murmured to herself. This would not be what became of Lady Clarke of Griffinshire. She was the daughter of Jacob and Abigail, Duke and Duchess of Griffinshire, a close confidant of Crown Prince Wells of Jaha, and a strong, smart, and capable woman. She wouldn’t allow the Wallaces or anyone else to drag her down into misery or to accept the hand she had been dealt. 

After all, it wasn’t as if she had much to lose by defying them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! 
> 
> We are getting so close to when they finally start working together now :)


End file.
